


Blond Twinks in Love.Com

by hollycomb



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:12:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Kenny and Butters became famous for being in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blond Twinks in Love.Com

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing scene from [The Scenic Route](http://archiveofourown.org/works/465965/chapters/804802), more explanation about how Kenny and Butters ended up doing okay.

Kenny had been running for half an hour, and he didn't want to stop. Since they arrived in California, the only time he didn't feel like a deadbeat moocher whose best years were behind him was when he was running across campus. When he ran, he felt like he was purely his physical self: an athletic teenager with a broad chest and long legs, still strong and capable and quick enough to out-pace the long path of McCormick ruin that was always trailing him.

He stopped when he'd made a full loop around campus and ended up back at the motel, because there was one other thing that still made him feel unstoppable, and doing it right after a run was the best high he'd ever had. He jogged up the stairs, breathing the smoggy morning air in gulping lungfuls, and unlocked room 25B at corner of the squat building across from the southeast corner of campus. The motel was called the Century Wilshire, which was a pretty fancy name for a piece of shit badly in need of renovations. It only cost two hundred a week, but Kenny was late on their last payment. If he didn't come up with a hundred bucks in the next two days he would have to borrow it from Stan, again. 

“Morning, mister,” Butters said when Kenny bolted the motel room door behind him. The room was still dark, curtains pulled over their view of the adjacent office building's back wall. Kenny didn't put on the light or open the curtains; the carpet was stained, the paint on the walls was peeling, and there was a steady parade of ants in the kitchenette. The place looked better in the dark.

“Did you find my note?” Kenny asked, chucking his sweat-soaked t-shirt. Butters was naked, grinning, and very warm when Kenny dropped onto the bed to lick him. 

“Note?” Butters said. “What note? I just woke up when you came in.” 

“Here.” Kenny picked up the note that he'd left on his pillow and watched Butters' smile widen when he read it. 

“'Darling Butters,” Butters read while Kenny continued mouthing at his neck. “You are sleeping so sweetly, I cannot bear to wake you. I shall return from my run forthwith. Very truly yours, Kenny.' Aw,” Butters said, putting the note aside. “You're very truly mine?” 

“You know it,” Kenny said, and he sat up to pull off his running shoes. Butters was already getting hard for him, tenting the cheap bedsheet while he watched Kenny undress. “Come with me next time,” Kenny said. “I hate leaving you in this shit hole by yourself. Did you hear someone knocking on the door last night at three AM, or did I dream that?”

“I heard it,” Butters said, face falling. “I don't like running, Ken, and I've got our bat.” He nodded to the one they kept in the corner, near the door, a gift from Stan when he saw their accommodations and was horrified. “I'll be okay,” Butters said when Kenny fell onto him again, flattening him back onto the pillow. 

Kenny shook his head. Butters truly believed that they would both be okay. Kenny kissed him, wanting to taste that it was true. Neither of them had even gotten a fast food service interview callback yet. The economy was in the toilet and they both looked younger than eighteen. Kenny had work experience, but it was back in South Park, and the assistant managers of L.A. didn't seem to think his small town cashiering style would cut it in the big city. Butters had never worked a day in his life, unless thankless servitude to his parents counted. 

“Babe,” Kenny said, very hard against Butters' thigh. “I need it.” 

“I know,” Butters said, petting Kenny's cheek like he was a kid with a fever that only Butters' ass could cure. It was mostly true. “You're all sweaty,” Butters whispered, pushing his fingers through Kenny's damp hair. 

“Sorry. I could shower first?”

“No, that's okay.” Butters grinned, blushed. “I like it. We can shower together, after.” 

Sex with Butters had always involved a certain degree of adrenaline, originally provided by climbing the tree near his window and fucking him hard but quiet while Butters muffled his cries of pleasure by biting his fist. The breathless risk involved was at least part of why Kenny got addicted to it and eventually fell into hopeless lovesick devotion, and running before sex allowed him to recapture that heart-pounding feeling that the nearness of Butters' sleeping parents used to provide. This was even better, doing it after a run, in a shitty motel, because now Butters could scream his name full volume, and Kenny could knock the headboard into the wall with every thrust. Kenny screamed, too, when he came like an avalanche and threw his head back, feeling briefly like a king in a glittering palace. 

When they were finished, Butters resting on Kenny's chest in contented creampie mode, Kenny reached for the iPhone that Stan gave them when the football team gifted him with an updated version. It was still active on the Marsh family data plan, and sometimes Kenny got text messages from Stan's mom, which he then passed along to Stan. Kenny felt guilty about the deception, but they needed the phone in order to stay appraised of Stan's whereabouts and to stay sane via internet browsing. Kenny looked up 'why are orgasms better after exercise' while Butters dozed. He was disappointed when the first page of results was full of articles about women having spontaneous orgasms while exercising. 

“If you're only going to do cardio,” Kenny said, reading from a post on a men's bodybuilding message board, “It wouldn't hurt to nut before.”

“To nut?” Butters said, and he giggled. 

“Yeah, I thought it was 'busting a nut.' I guess it's legit to cut out the middle man and use nut as a verb.” 

Butters sat up and stretched, squeaking a little as he spread his arms over his head. Kenny wanted to take a thousand pictures of him with this phone, but it was way too dark in here and pictures could never capture the full majesty of Butters' milky skin and downy fluff. Kenny put the phone aside and sat up to hug him from behind, wanting to anchor himself on Butters' sweetness without dragging Butters down into the depths along with him. He was afraid he'd already done that, sometimes. 

“Any messages from Kyle on that phone?” Butters asked. 

“Nah. I think Stan has started texting him with the new phone. He won't tell me, though. He says 'stop asking what happened, Kenny.' That's all I get these days.” 

“Geez. Do you think they had sex?”

“Doubtful. I don't think Stan whipping his dick out would send Kyle running. Quite the opposite.” 

“It's sad,” Butters said. “They're not even speaking to each other? What does Kyle say?”

“To stay out of it. Ready for a shower?”

“Sure am.”

After they cleaned up and dressed for the day, Kenny got a text from Stan saying they could meet him outside the dining hall if they wanted to grab an early lunch. Kenny's stomach knotted with shame every time they did this, but it wasn't like they had money for food, and he wasn't prideful enough to let Butters go hungry until they did. 

“Chow time,” Kenny said, showing Butters the text.

“Terrific!” Butters said. Though his parents had tried to instill it in him at every opportunity, Kenny was pretty sure Butters had no idea what actual shame felt like. It could be artificially applied to him by evil outside forces, but as long as he was being handled with care he flourished in self-acceptance. Kenny loved witnessing this, like Butters was finally in full bloom, and he would do anything to keep nurturing it. 

The walk across campus only increased the knots in Kenny's stomach. He hated this; it was too similar to going to the food bank with his siblings and his mother as a kid, collecting their allotment and taking it home, trying not to get excited because there was never anything in their charity box worth getting excited about. Kenny's mother used to try to make it cheerful, and would try to act like a jar of peanut butter was a special treat, but even when they were very young the McCormick children knew that their family was different, and not in a good way. 

Kenny was mostly quiet during the walk, indulging in his self-pity while Butters chattered happily about the day ahead of them. They could go to the beach, which was usually what Butters liked to do. Kenny liked it in theory: lying there sunning themselves as if they were normal teenagers who were out of school for the summer. But they would have to spend at least a couple of hours canvassing for jobs before they let themselves relax near the ocean, and the futility of doing so usually spoiled Kenny's attempts to enjoy lazing around and watching surfers.

"Great," Kenny said when they reached the dining hall and Stan wasn't there yet. He ate with his football team buddies, and he insisted that all incoming freshmen had to become pack animals in order to get the respect of their elder teammates, but Kenny still thought it was pretty lame and un-Stan-like that he was letting them dictate most of his schedule. "He's not here," Kenny said, as if Butters couldn't see that. 

"I'm sure he'll be right out." Butters knocked his fists together and gave Kenny an anxious smile. Kenny generally tried not to upset him, but he couldn't help going into jackass mode when they had to loiter outside the dining hall, waiting for their handout. 

Kenny texted Stan to let him know they'd arrived, and a few minutes later he emerged, thankfully alone, carrying the shoulder bag that he used to smuggle food out of the cafeteria. 

"Sorry," Stan said, heading around the side of the building. "I got held up with the guys." 

They walked into the alley between the dining hall and the adjacent administration building, which was where they usually made their food exchanges. It was like a drug deal, shady and quick. So much of the life Kenny had run away from had followed him to California; he'd even tried selling pot after meeting one of Stan's teammates who knew a guy in the 'industry,' but his supplier had stopped returning his calls. 

"I got bagels," Stan said, pulling them out and transferring them to the canvas bag Butters brought along for the exchange. "Milks, oranges--"

"We can see what you got," Kenny said. "You don't have to narrate."

"Jesus, sorry." Stan gave Kenny an irritable look. When they first started out with this arrangement, Stan was handling Kenny's uneasy gratitude very sensitively, which had infuriated Kenny in a different way. Now there was less coddling, though not because Stan was growing tired of the situation. Kenny knew him better than that, knew he sincerely wanted to help and didn't mind the effort. It was the thing with Kyle, still unrepaired, that had been making Stan short with everyone as time passed and the wound remained open. Kenny knew him well enough to understand that, too, even if he didn't have all the information on the best-friendship implosion. 

"We really appreciate it, Stan," Butters said when their day's worth of sundries had been transferred to the canvas bag. Kenny was jealous, distantly. Stan was providing for them both, and Butters was impressed with him. 

"Dude, it's really no problem." Stan glanced over at Kenny. "Seriously, they have mounds of food in there, and it's all you can eat." 

"We're going job hunting after breakfast," Kenny said. Stan nodded.

"Cool," he said. "I know it's tough right now, out there. I don't mind helping at all, seriously. It shouldn't even be legal for them to have, uh. Given me all this money, so. How are you on cash?"

"We have sixty-five dollars and forty-three cents," Butters said before Kenny could lie and say they were fine. 

"Damn. Is that after your rent for the week, or before?"

"Before," Kenny said. "But there's a two day cushion, so. I'll come up with something."

"Um, okay." Stan glanced at Butters. "But if not, I've got the money, so--"

"We know you've got the money, Stan. That's not the point. At least let me try to figure this out on my own before you step in and save the day again. Fuck!" Kenny turned away from them both, embarrassed. He was hungry, cranky; he shouldn't have run so hard on an empty stomach. "Sorry," he said when he turned back. "Stan, you're saving our lives here. I'm sorry. It's just. You know." 

"I know." Stan put his hand on Kenny's shoulder and squeezed. "Everything just fucking sucks right now, dude. I know." 

"Football, even?" Butters said, looking sad. Stan shook his head.

"That's going okay. I guess? I'm still nervous about having to play, how it'll be when the actual season starts. My stomach just. Hurts, all the fucking time." 

They were all quiet then, all thinking of Kyle. Kenny gave Butters a look to communicate that he shouldn't say anything on the subject. Butters gave him an incredulous stare in response; of course he knew not to bring it up. It never went anywhere, and Stan would tell them if he'd started speaking to Kyle again.

"So, yeah." Stan sighed, and Kenny noticed there were bags under his eyes. "You guys let me know if you need anything else. We could meet again around dinnertime."

Stan left to change for practice. Sometimes Kenny and Butters sat on the bleachers and watched him and the other players running their drills, but Kenny wasn't in the mood for it today. He took out one of the little milk cartons Stan had brought them and cracked it open as they walked away from the dining hall.

"Stan sure seems glum," Butters said, helping himself to the other milk.

"Yeah. You want me to carry the bag?" Kenny was desperate to do something, anything. Butters passed him the bag with a smile.

"Thanks," he said. "Hey, um, Ken? Can I tell you something, in strict confidence?"

"Of course.” Kenny was instantly worried by this; he thought they already knew all of each other's secrets, most of them whispered late at night in Butters' bedroom back in South Park. “What's up?"

"You especially can't tell Stan." 

"Okay. What is it?"

"Mhm." Butters drank from his milk, looking worried. "Well. Right after we got to California, to the hotel and all, me and Kyle met up in the bathroom. We ended up talking a little, about things, and Kyle says to me, 'how come everybody thinks I'm in love with Stan?'"

"Oh, Christ. And?"

"Well, maybe it was a little rude of me, but I said, 'well, aren't ya?' And I thought Kyle would stammer and brush me off at best, but you know what, Kenny, he said yes. He is. He told me. And I think he might have told Stan soon after."

"Goddamn, really?" Kenny had been afraid of that, but never would have guessed that Kyle would have confessed to Butters first. He felt a little left out. Before he could come up with any further reaction to this news, he noticed a girl standing behind them on the sidewalk. She was peering at them in a way that made Kenny realize she'd been following them since they left the dining hall. She was bony and pale with lank black hair, hugging a leather shoulder bag across her chest and staring openly now.

"Can we help you?" Kenny asked, wondering if she'd seen Stan smuggling food out. Great, perfect, just what he needed. 

"Perhaps," the girl said. 

"Okay." Kenny held his arms out when she just went on staring like they were some woodland creatures who had wandered onto campus to pick through the trashcans. "How so?"

"I've seen you two around campus these past few weeks," the girl said, walking toward them. "In the library, sharing a computer. Hanging out by the dining hall, walking through the museum. Always together."

"Who the hell are you?" Kenny asked. 

"Oh, geez," Butters said, flinching. "Don't bark at the poor girl." He was doing the thing with his fists, probably worried that she would to turn them in to campus security for habitual loitering.

"Trina Denis," she said. "We actually met, sort of. You sold my friend Tim some pot a couple of weeks ago." 

"Right." Kenny crossed his arms over his chest; she didn't look familiar at all, but he'd been pretty tense during that whole exchange, his vision tunneling to the product and the money. He could barely remember what Tim looked like. "Well, I'm not holding right now, so you're out of luck. Tim probably knows more than I do about where to get more." 

"I'm not looking for pot." Trina smiled. It made her look less warm and more gaunt; she had very small teeth. "Forgive me," she said. "But are you two a couple?"

"Yeah," Kenny said, sharply, though he doubted this tiny girl was looking to pick a fight with them over it. Maybe she wanted to invite them to church. "Why?"

"That's terrific." She smiled more widely, looking more eerie. "I've been looking for a couple like you two for a dream project of mine. I'm a film student in the graduate program, second year." She stood up a little straighter, allowing the shoulder bag to slump against her side. "My father is Tony Denis," she said. Kenny raised his eyebrows. 

"I don't know who that is," he said. 

"Me either, I'm afraid," Butters said. 

"He's a filmmaker," Trina said. "He's somewhat famous, but he's old, not very popular with our generation. He was sixty when I was born. How, um, old are you two?" She cocked her head when she asked this. Kenny was beginning to feel uncomfortable with this entire exchange.

"We're both eighteen," Butters said. "We were high school sweethearts! We've just moved out here to start our lives together." 

"Perfect," Trina said, her dark little eyes glittering. 

"What's this project?" Kenny asked. "I don't get it."

"If you'd take my card," she said, fumbling into her shoulder bag. "I'd like to sit down with you and discuss it. Perhaps over dinner tonight?"

"What is it, though?" Kenny accepted the card she offered. It was stylishly plain, with only her name and the word FILM underneath it, plus her phone number in the bottom left corner. "The project?"

"It requires some description," she said. "Some unpacking, I should say. I'd rather we talked over dinner about the particulars. It involves film, obviously, but it's not a traditional media experience. It's a genre that I am prepared to invent, and I think you two could help me a great deal."

"Wait," Kenny said. "Is this some kind of porn thing?"

"It's not a porn thing!" Trina said, but she flushed like she'd been caught. "It's a subversive dialogue with traditional exploitative pornography, reality television and internet celebrity." 

"Okay, nope." Kenny thrust the card out. "No, thank you." 

"Please," she said, holding up her hands and stepping away from the outstretched card. "Don't reject the idea before I've had a chance to explain it further." 

"You want us to fuck on camera?" Kenny asked. "That what we're talking about here, at the end of the day?"

"No, not at all, not 'at the end of the day,' there's more going on here than--"

"Thanks but no thanks." Kenny tried to give her the card back again, and again she evaded it. 

"There's five thousand dollars upfront involved with my proposal," she said. "I have financial backers for the project who have committed twenty thousand to its launch if I'm able to locate the ideal candidates for the-- study. Study in the artistic sense, not scientific. Plus, once the project launches and we gain subscribers, I would be willing to offer you forty percent of the take during the first year." 

"The first year?" Butters took the card from Kenny's outstretched hand and studied it. "Is this like a job, miss?"

"Yes!" Trina nodded and tried to approach Butters. Kenny stepped between them. 

"Ma'am," he said. "You may have figured out that we're not students there, but that doesn't mean we're here to sell ourselves to them. We're not prostitutes. Please leave us alone."

"I'm not talking about prostitution, the project is exactly the opposite in spirit, that's why I've been looking for a couple--"

"We're leaving now," Kenny said, taking Butters by the arm. He was still holding the card.

"If you change your mind, I'll be at the Glendon tonight for happy hour!" Trina stood in place while they walked away, hugging her bag across her chest again. "I'd be happy to treat you to a meal and just talk about the project, no strings attached!"

Kenny walked away without answering, incensed. She must have seen them taking food from Stan after all, if she thought a free meal during happy hour would persuade them to let her film them fucking.

"Ken," Butters said when they had been walking for a few minutes, Kenny fuming and insulted and glad that Trina wasn't a man, because he would have punched any dude who thought he could talk not only him but also Butters into giving up and settling for prostitution. "Kenny?" Butters said, touching his back. "You alright? You're so worked up today, you need a back rub or something?"

"A back rub?" Kenny gave Butters a look that wilted him, then felt terrible. "No, babe," he said, draping an arm around him. He checked back over his shoulder to make sure Trina was out of sight, and kissed Butters on the forehead. "That was just really fucked up."

"Well, was it? I'm not sure I understood what she was getting at, really. You don't want to meet her for dinner?"

"What?" Kenny waited for Butters to laugh and say that he'd got him with that one, but he didn't seem to be joking. “Hell no! You saw her get all red when I figured out what her fancy words really meant. She wants to make some arty porn movie, probably to piss off her famous old man. And she wants me and you in it."

"You think? Hmm, maybe. I'm curious, though."

"Curious? About what?"

"Kenny, she said five thousand dollars!" Now Butters was flushed, and he shrank in on himself a little. "Five thousand, that's a lot. Shouldn't we at least get more information? She wanted to meet in a public place, so what's the harm? Especially if she'd buy us a hot meal. I don't mean to complain, hon, but I'm getting a little tired of dry bread and fruit, and you're starting to get real skinny. And, um, well." Butters sighed and looked down at Trina's card, which had wrinkled in his grip. "Well, I try to be positive, but I'm not really sure, after all, how good I'd be with that bat next time someone tries to break into our room at the Wilshire." 

"Break-- someone tried to break in?"

"Last night, I mean. Kenny, that knocking was pretty scary!" 

"Oh, shit, I know, c'mere."

Kenny pulled Butters into a hug and rocked him in his arms, though he didn't even seem half as upset as Kenny was by what had just happened. Could people like that girl smell it on him? Desperation, cheapness?

"We don't have to stoop to that," Kenny said, stroking Butters' hair. "I'm so sorry, I wish-- I know, we can't go on like this. I know, but I didn't rescue you from South Park just to sell you into sexual slavery."

"Kenny!" Butters looked up at him, laughing a little. "I know that. Geez."

They stopped in one of the courtyards on campus to eat breakfast, finishing most of what was in the canvas bag. Kenny still felt hungry, and he thought of what they might order at the Glendon: pizza, burgers, maybe even a fucking salad. It had been a while since Stan smuggled anything green from the cafeteria. They had walked past the Glendon plenty of times in the past few weeks, and it looked like the kind of casual restaurant that had always been out of Kenny's reach: not expensive, but positively rarefied where the McCormicks were concerned. He looked down at his t-shirt, then at Butters' rumpled clothes. They needed to do laundry soon. 

The rest of their afternoon was spent walking to Sports Authority, where they inquired about applications. Though the guy they'd spoken to on the phone the day before had said there were sales floor positions open, the manager who handed them applications said they only had one position open, in the stock room, and that they were hoping to hire a college student. 

"Why?" Kenny asked, at the end of his rope. "Won't being in classes just distract them from their important stock floor work?"

"Kenny," Butters said, tugging on his arm. The manager guy was giving them a humorless stare, clearly ruling them both out due to that outburst. 

"Never mind," Kenny muttered, and he resisted the urge to dramatically crumple up his application as they turned to leave. 

By the time they'd walked back to campus, they were both coated in sweat and exhausted. In their room at the Wilshire, Kenny collapsed onto the bed and lay there listlessly while Butters crouched over him, rubbing his shoulders. Out in the hallway, a man and woman were shouting at each other; glass broke. Kenny was familiar with this as a background soundtrack to time spent lying on an unmade bed, feeling hopeless. 

"I'm gonna change into some clean clothes," Butters said, leaning down to whisper this against the back of Kenny's ear. "And then, Ken, I'm gonna go meet that girl. You don't have to come with me. I just want to hear what she's got to say." 

"Butters," Kenny said, lifting his face from the mattress. "You're too trusting. It's probably a con." 

"Well, then we ask for the money upfront, in cash!" 

Kenny rolled over onto his back. Butters was kneeling beside him on the bed, looking calm but determined. 

"If she really is talking about us being together in a dirty movie," Butters said, "That's something I've, um, thought about. In a happy sort of way."

They've talked a little bit about Butters' exhibitionist streak. It's a kind of reaction to his parents' attempts to oppress him, maybe. Kenny moans and rubs his hand over his face. 

"If we go to this meeting," he said, "That doesn't mean I'm shucking my clothes for this rich kid's pet project. It's just a meeting."

"Right! And we'll have a nice meal--"

"And I'm gonna order drinks." 

"Well, sure. I haven't had a drink since we got ill at that campsite. Maybe I'll get something fancy, like a Cosmopolitan." Butters grinned and leaned down to kiss Kenny's cheek. "It'll be fun," he said. "A good story to tell Stan, if nothing else." 

"Stan is not hearing about this," Kenny said, sitting up. 

"How come?"

"'Cause as soon as he reconciles with Kyle he'll tell him about it, and eventually all of South Park will know that Kenny McCormick officially became a whore, for real." 

"Oh, hush. It's just a meeting, like you said. Probably all we'll be saying to Stan is that some kooky film student wanted to hire us for her movie. C'mon, put on a nice shirt."

"I don't own any nice shirts," Kenny said, peeling himself off the bed. 

"Well, nicer than that one," Butters said. "You got pit stains, mister."

Kenny pulled off his shirt, cleaned his armpits with a washcloth and put on deodorant. Butters was in a better mood already, humming to himself as he primped beside Kenny, who couldn't help but grin. 

"So this girl just saw us," Kenny said, looking up at their reflection in the mirror, "And she said to herself, 'There they are. The only two guys hot enough to star in my arty porn bullshit.'" 

"Seems that way," Butters said. "But maybe we'd better learn more about it before we call it bullshit." 

They walked to the Glendon as the worst of the afternoon's heat finally began to burn off, the air still choked and heavy from the gridlocked evening commute. When they'd first arrived in L.A. they had borrowed Stan's car if they needed to go more than a few blocks, but now Kenny preferred walking in most cases. He was a little sweaty by the time they reached the restaurant, but it was mostly from nerves. 

"There she is," Butters whispered when they peered into the restaurant from the sidewalk. "Who are those other folks?"

"I don't know." 

Trina Denis was seated at a round table near the bar. With her was a heavily pierced young man who was as slight and pale as she was and a girl with long blond hair who was Trina's physical opposite in most ways: tall and busty with round shoulders and a pretty smile. Trina waved to them as they approached, and the blond girl waved, too. 

"You came!" Trina said when Kenny hovered near the table. Butters took the remaining empty seat, and the blond girl hopped up to drag one from another table over for Kenny. 

"Hi!" she said, pushing it over toward him. "I'm Vicki." She threw out her hand and Kenny shook it, feeling as if he'd been tricked into agreeing to something already. Vicki's hand was large and soft like the rest of her, and cold from the beer she'd been holding. 

"Vicki is my girlfriend," Trina said when Kenny and Vicki took their seats. "We've been together for three years. I thought you both might be more comfortable knowing that I'm not attracted to men. I find sex between men to be remotely beautiful, but not personally arousing." 

"That's quite an opener," Kenny said, looking around for a waiter. "Can we order some drinks?"

"I'll get them for you!" Vicki hopped up, knocking the table with her knee and rattling the silverware. "Shit, sorry. What do you guys want?"

Butters asked for a Cosmopolitan. Kenny ordered a scotch and soda, his old man's drink.

"This is Bernard," Trina said, indicating the pierced man. "He's designing the website. He's asexual and deaf, but he reads lips." 

"Okay," Kenny said. "Slow the fuck down. Hi, Bernard," he added, feeling like he was in some kind of absurd movie already. Bernard nodded once and sipped from a glass of red wine that had pieces of fruit floating in it. "Just what in the hell is this project?" Kenny asked Trina, who was smiling to herself like she'd already gotten what she wanted. Typical spoiled rich kid, seemed like.

"It's an exploration of true intimacy from a voyeuristic perspective," she said. "I envision a full service website with videos that are pornographic, romantic and mundane in nature, plus diary entries and interaction with subscribers in the form of Q&A sessions and so forth. Why don't you tell us a little more about your love story?"

"Oh gosh," Butters said, and he accepted his precariously brimming pink martini when Vicki returned. "That's quite a story!" 

"Getting back to what you want to pay us five thousand dollars for," Kenny said. "What is it, exactly? Sex on camera, I've gathered."

"Yes, I'm interested in the sex angle as a 'hook' for subscribers, and also because I want to elevate the depiction of physical intimacy within the context of the overall site. I would want you two to help direct the project, of course. I think, with your looks and an authentic love story as the foundation, the concept could be very lucrative. Of course, you're guaranteed your upfront fee whether or not we attract any subscribers. Plus accommodation." 

"Accommodation?" Kenny sipped from his drink, his foot beginning to bounce under the table.

"I've set up the guest house at my father's ranch as our home base for filming," Trina said. "I've had everything in place for almost a year now, but nobody who has expressed interest in being the featured couple has even approached the commercial appeal that you two have. No offense. I'm sure you don't think of yourselves as commercial, but. You look like a gay porn goldmine, to put it crudely."

"Trina!" Vicki said. 

"I said to put it crudely."

"I'm not offended," Kenny said. "But this is insane. You want us to move onto your dad's property and be your pet twinks? Fucking on command?"

"Not on command!" Trina said. "Like I said, the project is directed by your love story. I'll have a camera in the bedroom of your residence, but I would absolutely give you veto power over any particular footage you wanted to exclude. That would be in the contract."

"The contract?" Butters said. 

"I'm second year law," Vicki said. She smiled, and Butters smiled back like they were already pals. Kenny took a large swallow from his scotch and soda, wondering what this guest house looked like. 

"What about your dad?" he asked. "He's okay with you using his cottage for your gay porn project?"

"My father is very open-minded," Trina said, frowning as if Kenny should know this. "And he's in Italy for the rest of the year anyway, doing this dry period piece about World World I. But really, please. Before we go any further, I'd like to hear how you met. You say you were high school sweethearts-- Did you come from a town that was accepting of young gay couples? What sort of struggles have you faced in your journey together so far?"

Butters and Kenny looked at each other. Butters smiled and sipped from his Cosmo.

"Well, dang," Butters said. "How long have you got?"

"I'll be here all night." Trina dug out her phone. "Mind if I record this? It's just audio."

They were at the restaurant for hours, talking about South Park and Kenny's initial visits to Butters' childhood bedroom, when he'd climbed in through the window. The ninja star also came up, and Kenny's eyes burned when everyone leaned in to see Butters' faint scar. Vicki was enamored with their story and Trina kept asking if certain details were actually true, as if they were the ones trying to con her. Bernard periodically made handwritten notes in a black diary. Kenny could see dollar signs flashing in Trina's eyes as she began to accept that every brutal twist and sweet turn of their story was true. Kenny became progressively more enthusiastic about the whole project as he finished more drinks and dug into multiple appetizers, a cheeseburger with bacon, and the seasonal cobbler for dessert. He was pretty sure he was going to be ill by the time Trina offered to drive them back to their motel. 

"Obviously, you'll want to see the accommodations before you agree to anything," she said when Butters and Kenny were in the backseat with Bernard, who was staring out the window like he'd tired of reading lips. "How about tomorrow?" Trina said. "I can take you up to the ranch, show you where you'd be staying if you participated." 

"Sounds great!" Butters said, squirming in his seat. Kenny could already see that he wanted this to all come true, like a fairy tale featuring explicit internet porn. Butters wanted to believe that this was their magical way out, maybe because he'd once thought Kenny's bedroom window appearances were too good to be true, and then the idea that Kenny might really love him back, and now here they were.

Back at the Century Wilshire, the hallway was dark and forbidding. Kenny regretted getting kind of drunk, because what if the three AM knocker came back and he needed to use the bat on the guy?

"What an interesting evening!" Butters said, practically floating into the scummy motel room. "I sure liked Vicki a lot. And Bernard seems nice, too." 

"Trina mentioned he's asexual," Kenny said, dumping himself onto the bed. "I guess that's supposed to be reassuring, like the other two being lesbians. I feel like I'm dreaming."

"Oh, me too," Butters said. He crawled onto Kenny's back, pressing him down to the mattress and making his stomach ache terribly, but Kenny didn't move. "I've felt like I was dreaming since that first night we kissed," Butters said, playing with Kenny's hair. 

"That night. The night I found you digging in the backyard."

"Mhmm." Butters covered the back of Kenny's neck in kisses, as if was the one who would be gutted by that memory. Kenny still had bad dreams that he couldn't reach Butters, and in his dreams the hole was always getting deeper, or filling with water. Sometimes Stephen Stotch was holding the hose that filled it. Butters seemed healed lately, trusting his whole recovering heart to Kenny's care. Kenny was terrified of what would happen if he made a wrong move, let Butters down. 

"You really want to do this?" Kenny muttered, eyes closed. They hadn't put the lights on.

"I like the idea of it," Butters said. "Me and you showing the whole world what it's like when we're together. Not hiding anymore." 

"I'm not sure they have the right to see _everything_. Our balls? My dick, in you? The money shots?"

"It is a little strange, but Trina said she wants to show us kissing, too, and cuddling. Heck, if I'd have known from the start that stuff like that was involved, I'd have felt a lot less bad about wanting the other stuff. The porno movie that turned me on to butt sex didn't have a whole lot of tender moments."

" _Backdoor Sluts 9_?"

"That's the one, yep."

Kenny drifted off to sleep, not sure he could buy _Backdoor Sluts 9_ 's lack of tenderness as a justification for the two of them launching their porn career. He woke up with a terrible stomachache and didn't attempt a run.

The trip to the guest house went as Kenny had predicted, and feared: the Denis ranch was gorgeous, sprawling, gated, and landscaped like a five-star resort. Butters had stars in his eyes as soon as they drove onto the grounds, escorted there in Trina's massive Escalade. The guest house was at the back of the property, shaded by towering palms and in sight of the pool. By the time they were touring the interior -- every room bright, airy, decorated with cozy elegance, spotlessly clean -- Kenny knew they would do it, and he wanted to cry from some combination of helplessness and desperation to believe that this could possibly be the right decision. 

"Maid service is included, of course," Trina said as they made their way into the kitchen. "And that includes laundry, as long as it's in the hamper when they arrive. My P.A. will keep this stocked." 

She opened the fridge to demonstrate what 'stocked' meant. Kenny had to reel the hungry, dirt-smeared kid in himself back, lest he tactlessly paw through the selection that was illuminated as the door opened. There were cold cuts and several paper-wrapped cheeses, organic eggs, milk, juice, a variety of fruits and vegetables in two separate drawers, a tub of guacamole, posh-looking champagne and a neat lineup of bottled water, sparkling and flat. The door of the fridge was lined with craft beers, and Kenny assumed the cupboard was stocked with sundries and spices, the cabinets filled with sparkling clean dishware. It was a needed bounty, but it was still a handout just for being human, a classed-up food bank. Kenny supposed he and Butters were being hosted here also on the basis that they were lovable, cute, commercially viable twinks, but he wasn't comfortable accepting room and board for it. Then Trina pulled out her checkbook, a chewed-up pen, and popped both open on the granite top of the kitchen's island. 

"Shall we make this official?" she asked. "Vicki is finalizing the contract, but I can go ahead and cut the check, if you suspect you'll feel comfortable signing on. Whose name should I make this out to?"

Kenny was the one with the nearly empty back account; Butters had never been allowed to have one of his own. Trina made the check out to Kenny, and she signed it just as the day manager of the Century Wilshire was slipping a notice under the door of room 25B: they would have to pay rent plus the late fee or vacate the premises by six o'clock that evening.

Later that night, alone in the guest house, they both stretched out on top of the neatly made master bed and stared up at the ceiling as the sun went down. They were holding hands, still afraid to touch anything else in the guest house. Trina would collect them in the morning for a creative meeting where Butters and Kenny would be granted 'full contributing input.' They had been assured that the cameras weren't rolling yet. The check had not been deposited, but the contract had been signed. 

"Some part of me always knew I'd end up an indentured servant," Kenny said. He remembered learning the term in middle school during history class, and how it had immediately resonated: those people were his people, trickled down through the years. Butters moaned and rolled over to cuddle up to him, still holding his hand. "You, though," Kenny said, and he stroked Butters' hair, keeping his gaze pointed upward. "This is perhaps not your destiny. What have I done to you, already?"

"Kenny!" Butters sat up and put his hand on Kenny's jaw, tipping his head until their eyes were locked. "You may have saved me once, mister," Butters said. "From that hole in the backyard. Down there, it's true, I was close to giving up. Something was breaking for good, and then you came and scooped me out of the dark. But that doesn't make me your charge, okay? I'm your boyfriend, and I'm okay with doing this, being here. Are you okay with it, really? I don't want to go talking you into something that's gonna make you feel dirty or sad." 

"The truth?” Kenny draped his arm over his eyes, ashamed. “It feels right. And I'm afraid about what that means, about me." 

"I think it means you trust me," Butters said. "'Cause I feel that way, too, and I felt that way first."

Kenny touched Butters' cheek. He was so soft, too soft. Kenny tried again to imagine a camera zooming in to capture the moment when his cock went in and Butters melted into the feeling, the sounds he made, the way he said Kenny's name. Admittedly, it was all stuff Kenny was proud of. He'd bragged, smug and smiling, to Kyle and Stan during the road trip. He'd been full to bursting with pride after rescuing Butters at the airport, unable to resist strutting, finally telling everyone how good he'd had it every time he stepped from that tree and into Butters' window. 

"Let me cook you dinner," Butters said when Kenny's stomach whined. 

"Is she really going to let you do cooking segments?" Kenny asked. "Or is that a drunken hallucination of mine?"

"No, we really talked about that last night! She seemed to like the idea, and it's in the contract, didn't you see? Butters gets to do his cooking show, right there in writing! Can you believe it?"

"You'll be a star," Kenny said, and his eyes watered when he realized that yes, he could and did believe it. There were certain things that were plainly true, no matter how weird shit got: Stan and Kyle would be inseparable again someday, the McCormicks would always swallow their pride if it meant putting food on the table, and Butters was a star just waiting for a stage. Kenny would have done anything to keep him off of this one if he thought Butters didn't want to be there, but Butters was humming when he turned on the burners at the kitchen stove, when he found a shiny white mixing bowl, and when he cracked eggs into it for an omelet. He turned back to Kenny and smiled, checking to see if he was okay. He had a cheese grater in one hand, a block of cheddar in the other, and he looked at home on this stage already.


End file.
